


Freedom for Nathaniel

by glitterandgin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Awakening, a 'both our blind dates stood us up so we ended up together' au that got out of hand, slight AU, still takes place in the canon universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:25:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandgin/pseuds/glitterandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anders and Nathaniel are both stood up, they take the opportunity to get to know each other. An AU set before the events of Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was going to murder Jakyb, Anders decided. Assuming he wasn’t captured and/or murdered himself, that was.

The Withered Parsnip was hardly what anyone would call a fine eating establishment. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone willing to call it an eating establishment without a hefty bribe and a few bottles of whiskey. The owner’s idea of class consisted of cheesecloth dyed in various shades of dirty green, which were artfully combined with paintings of a mabari dressed in various costumes. Still, one of the newer additions to Kinloch Hold had told him that Jakyb would help him once he got out, so he had to wait there until Jakyb finally arrived.

Sashia’s description of Jakyb wasn’t proving particularly useful. “Young, with black hair” described at least three of the patrons, though two of them were part of a group with eight other people, so the chances of either of them being Jakyb were rather slim. The third sat at a table just left of the door, scanning the room with a desperation that gave Anders a bit of hope for his future. He emerged from his corner and approached the table.

“Jakyb?” he said, running his fingertips over the pocked wooden table.

The man shook his head. “Milo?”

“Afraid not,” Anders said, his heart stuffing rocks in its pockets before leaping into the ocean. He was doomed. He hadn’t bothered making a backup plan if his plans to meet with Jakyb fell through, and the templars were sure to catch him because of that. He shook his head, hoping his despair hadn’t been evident on his face. “Sorry to bother you.”

The man lightly grabbed his wrist as he turned to leave. “Wait. It looks like we’ve both been abandoned. Why don’t we eat together?”

Anders blinked. “That’d be great. Um. I’m Anders.”

“Nathaniel,” he said, releasing Anders’ wrist to shake his hand, his fingers trailing along Anders’ palm as he slowly let go. Anders tried not to shiver.  “Have a seat.”

Anders complied, smiling a little tensely. In hopes of distracting Nathaniel from the anxiety he was sure he emitted like a beacon, he said, “Who’s Milo, and why are you meeting here?”

“I have no idea who Milo is, to be honest,” Nathaniel said, rubbing a corner of his napkin between his thumb and index finger. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only anxious one here. “My friend, Fergus, arranged for me to meet him here. Apparently Milo thought better of that.”

Anders frowned. “I’m sorry. He probably saw the place Fergus picked and ran without thinking.”

Nathaniel let out a syllable of amusement. “And what about your Jakyb?”

“Oh, he’s nobody,” Anders said, taking care to keep his tone light. “Just the man who was supposed to save my life.”

Nathaniel blinked before smiling and taking Anders’ hand once more. “If he abandoned you so easily, I’m not sure you should have trusted him with your life in the first place.”

“You weren’t terribly attached to this Milo, were you?” he said, practically straining his neck with the effort to keep from turning to look for signs of templars.

“I only agreed to meet him to please Fergus. Since he thought better of that arrangement, I’m spared the effort of pretending to enjoy his company,” Nathaniel said, releasing Anders’ hand. “From what Fergus told me, his primary interest was mould.”

“I’m sure the topic would grow on you,” Anders said, grinning at Nathaniel’s eyeroll. “Are you from around here?”

“No, my family is staying with the Arl for a fortnight while my father attends to business in Denerim. We live north of here, in Amaranthine. You?”

Anders froze, his mind clicking to a stop as he realised the hole he’d dug for himself. He hadn’t been able to say he was part of anywhere outside of the Circle since he was a child. Thanks to the outdated books and maps that the Chantry deemed acceptable for study, he barely had a working knowledge of Ferelden anymore. After a panicked pause, he said, “I’m from the Anderfels.”

“You’re Anders,” Nathaniel said, and Anders ran through every expletive he’d ever heard as Nathaniel said it. “And you’re from the Anderfels. You’re an Ander named Anders from the Anderfels.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds,” he paused, scrambling for the right word. “Odd.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Nathaniel said. “If you don’t want to tell me--”

Anders spun to face the door as it flew open and slammed against the wall as three templars entered the restaurant.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Nathaniel furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I have to go now. It was lovely meeting you and have a great day and all those other platitudes I kind of don’t have time for at the moment,” Anders said, wishing there was a way he could leave the table without immediately drawing attention to himself. Maybe if he jumped out the window he’d have enough of a head start…

“Is it the templars?” Nathaniel said, his voice barely reaching a whisper.

Anders gave the smallest of nods.

Nathaniel took his hand. “There’s a storage room just down the hall. You can hide there until they’ve gone. Follow me.”

They slowly stood, and each miniscule motion felt like waving his arms and shouting as Anders let Nathaniel lead him through the restaurant to the storage room at the end of the hall. When they arrived without being intercepted or even noticed by the templars, Anders allowed himself to breathe once more.

“Thanks,” he said, not letting go of Nathaniel’s hand.

“You’re--” Nathaniel paused and swore under his breath. “They’re coming. I can hear their boots. Do you trust me?”

“I don’t have much--” Anders said before Nathaniel crushed their lips together right as the templars kicked the door open. The kiss started rocky, all bumped noses and awkwardly tilted mouths, but quickly evolved into something smoother with just enough of an edge of desperation to hint at passion from an outsider’s perspective. Anders wound his fingers in Nathaniel’s hair, gasping as Nathaniel lightly scratched down the back of his neck. They continued kissing several seconds after the door had creaked apologetically shut.

When they finally separated, Nathaniel was flushed and out of breath. Anders knew he was no better.

“Thanks,” Anders said when he’d managed to breathe almost normally once more. “Again. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said, taking a small step back while his eyes focused on Anders’ lips.

“I, ah. I guess I should be going now,” he said, running his fingers along where Nathaniel had scratched during their kiss.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“I was kind of depending on Jakyb for that,” Anders confessed. “But I’m resourceful. I’ll find something.”

“I’m sure you will, Anders the Ander from the Anderfels,” he said drily. “You’ve found the Arl of Denerim’s estate. You’re coming with me.”

“Why should I trust you?” he said, wishing he could sound anything other than breathless.

“I don’t snog strangers often. I trusted that you’d be worth it. Prove it to me.”

Anders nodded and found himself being led away by Nathaniel once more.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Don’t you want to interrogate me before you invite me into someone else’s home?” Anders said as they slunk out of the back entrance and onto the streets of Denerim. “I could be a serial killer… or a blood mage.”

“Are you?” Nathaniel said, tugging Anders down alley after alley as they evaded the templars. Anders wondered if he’d had much practice doing this.

“Well, no,” he said as they reached the Arl’s courtyard. It had more plants than some of the forests he’d ran through on the way to Denerim, and he couldn’t imagine how much time it would take to polish the marble statues. “But I could be.”

“But you aren’t.”

“I’m not complaining. Far from it. I’m very grateful for this, really. I just question the wisdom of letting someone stay with you without knowing anything about them first,” Anders said as they were admitted into the estate proper.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have ulterior motives for saving your life?” he said, and he almost sounded menacing. Almost. “Perhaps I mean to make you my indentured servant.”

“I… hadn’t thought of that,” he said, suddenly painfully aware of how much he already owed Nathaniel for the rescue. Had he exchanged one form of imprisonment for another? “I’m afraid I’ll make a terrible servant, though.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t plan to make you an indentured servant, then,” Nathaniel said. “I doubt you got much practice polishing marble in the tower.”

“I’m not a--” Anders began.

“Right. You’re wearing robes because you’re going to a fancy dress party, and the templars got confused. It’s all a big misunderstanding,” Nathaniel said, raising an eyebrow. His expression turned almost gentle. “If I was going to turn you over, I would have done that in the restaurant.”

“Good point,” he said, heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “But won’t everyone else be suspicious when they find you’ve brought a mage home?”

“I’ll handle that. The Couslands shouldn’t take much convincing, as long as you don’t make it too obvious that you’re a mage.”

“There go my plans of summoning demons and immolating the servants with magical fire,” Anders said with a strained smile. “What about your family?”

Nathaniel pressed his lips together into a tight line before relaxing his expression. “Just trust me. You’ll be fine.”

#

As it turned out, convincing the Howes to let Anders stay for a short amount of time was easier than either of them had expected. Arl Cousland was surprisingly amenable to Nathaniel taking a charity case, and Arl Howe, apparently sensing the opportunity to curry favour with his host, agreed to allow Anders to stay. While the Couslands seemed like genuinely kind people, watching Arl Howe attempt to be a welcoming and pleasant host was like watching someone adorn a steel trap with flower garlands.

Anders shifted, trying to find a way to make Nathaniel’s spare clothes fit him better. The trouser legs trailed and pooled at his feet, and the jacket was clearly sewn with the intention of clothing someone with muscular definition in their arms. Overall, the outfit gave only the vague impression that there might be someone buried in five layers of silk and velvet. It figured that the first time he wore trousers since childhood, he’d end up wearing ones that flopped at his feet like a pair of dying linen fish.

Nathaniel frowned as he regarded him. “I’m afraid this is as good as it will get. Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”

He nodded and shuffled after Nathaniel, nearly tripping and falling several times during the trip until Nathaniel offered his arm to steady him.

When they reached the dining room, Nathaniel yanked his arm away from Anders as though the latter’s hand had sprouted venomous thorns. Anders blinked, nonplussed, and took a seat opposite of Nathaniel. Nathaniel refused to look at him.

“If I’d known we were having a guest of our own, I would have prepared,” Arl Howe said, coolly inspecting Anders. Anders had a feeling he’d been found wanting. “Tell me, how did you and Nathaniel meet?”

“I was attacked by muggers in an alley,” Nathaniel said before Anders had a chance to concoct a lie. “There were too many for me to handle alone, and he helped. I invited him to dinner as a reward.”

Arl Howe nodded, eyebrows raised. “Then thank you, Anders, for saving my son. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he found himself in over his head during a simple walk through Denerim.”

Anders opened his mouth to argue that point, but Nathaniel kicked his shin. He shut his mouth.

The rest of dinner seemed to consist of Arl Howe making various pointed remarks about his eldest son while the Couslands and Anders sat in awkward silence, Arl Cousland making occasional futile attempts to curb Howe’s actions throughout the meal. By the time dinner and dessert were over, Nathaniel’s face had gone stony and the general atmosphere was one of great discomfort.

“I’ll show you to your chambers,” Nathaniel said, taking Anders’ arm once they were out of sight of everyone else.

“Is he always like that?” Anders said, tripping over his trouser leg and nearly falling to the ground.

Nathaniel caught him and steadied him back onto his feet, smoothing Anders’ jacket before they resumed walking. “Oh, no. That was his good behaviour for his hosts.”

Anders’ jaw dropped. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It could have been much worse.” Nathaniel opened the door next to his chambers and ushered Anders in. “You’ll be sleeping here. My room’s next door, if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Anders said, wishing he could think of a better way to convey his gratitude. “Really, thank you. For everything.”

Nathaniel almost smiled and nodded. “Good night, Anders.”


	3. Chapter 3

For a brief, horrifying moment, Anders thought he was back in the tower before realising that the mattress was far too comfortable and that the air was almost worryingly free of the sleep noises of other people. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Panic plunged into his heart like an icy knife. Nathaniel had helped him yesterday, but would he decide to do so now? It was well within his rights to turn him out on the street--Anders was fully aware of what a liability he was, especially to someone of the Howes’ social stature. He was lucky Nathaniel had decided to do so much for him already. Maybe he should sneak out before Nathaniel woke, save them both the awkward conversation where they inevitably agreed that it’d be better if he left. He’d just--

“Are you awake?” Nathaniel called through the heavy wooden door.

Shit. Anders climbed out of bed and opened the door. His heart had dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his small intestine as he crossed the room, and he could feel it pounding in his abdomen until he thought he might vomit. Forcing a smile, he said, “Good morning.”

“We’re leaving for Amaranthine today,” Nathaniel said, staring at a point just above Anders’ shoulder.

Anders nodded. “Thank you for everything. I won’t forget this, and I’ll try to repay you. Assuming I manage to evade capture that long,” he forced a laugh, “but I’m an optimist.”

“I was going to ask you to come with us,” Nathaniel said, finally looking at Anders. “You should be safer out of Denerim. It will take them longer to track you, won’t it?”

Anders blinked. Words piled up in his throat until he struggled to breathe around them. Eventually he said, “You want me to come. With you.”

“If you have a better idea…”

“No, not at all,” Anders said, reaching out and almost touching Nathaniel. “I was just surprised. You could get in a lot of trouble for hiding an apostate, and I don’t think your father would be thrilled with the idea.”

“Remember what I said about letting me handle that?” Nathaniel said, taking Anders’ hands. He released them almost as suddenly as he’d taken them. “This is going to work, Anders. I’m going to make it work.”

“You must be incredibly bored to spend so much energy doing this,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Nathaniel shook his head, frowning. “Get ready. We’re leaving in half an hour.”

“Right. I’ll have to pack all two of my belongings,” Anders said with a half-smile. “Would you roll your eyes if I thanked you again?”

“I’ll try not to,” Nathaniel said with the beginnings of a smile. He licked his lips and looked down. “I’ll let you get ready. Do you remember the way to the main entrance?”

“Ah,” Anders said, desperately trying to cobble together the layout of the estate from memory.

“I’ll meet you outside of your room in half an hour, then.”

True to his word, Nathaniel knocked on Anders’ door thirty minutes later. The servants had already carried Nathaniel’s belongings to the luggage wagon, leaving him with nothing else to do but guide Anders out of the Couslands’ estate. He did so almost too enthusiastically, looping an arm around Anders’ waist and pulling him to the side whenever a servant passed them. By the time they reached the door, Anders wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a bruise the shape of Nathaniel’s arm around his midsection.

In what seemed to be an ongoing trend, Nathaniel refused to so much as brush fingers with Anders once they were around the rest of the Howes. When they climbed into the wagon, Nathaniel took care to sit as far away from Anders as possible. Nathaniel’s tactic for avoiding all physical contact probably would have worked, had it not been for the road. During a particularly violent jolt, Anders found himself flung against the carriage, landing squarely on Nathaniel’s lap. Nathaniel, to the snorts of amusement from his siblings and disgust from his father, pushed Anders off almost immediately before drawing his legs to his chest in an attempt to avoid repeats of the incident. By the time they’d arrived at the Howe estate, Nathaniel barely looked at Anders at all.

“Is there any way I could have a bath?” Anders said as they entered the manor.

“Follow me,” Nathaniel said, pointedly avoiding eye contact with everyone.

The Howe estate, while having superficial similarities to the Couslands’ in its architecture and general layout, was austere almost to the point of parody. Paintings of Howes long since dead glowered down at Anders as he followed Nathaniel to the baths, and the carpet was little more than a thin wool covering over the stone floors.

Nathaniel ushered him into a room with a large wooden tub that took up at least half of the available space. He turned a knob, and water began to fill the tub. Apparently all the funds for proper decorating had been channelled into dwarven architecture.

“The soaps and ointments are here, just to the left of the tub. Feel free to use--what are you doing?” Nathaniel said, his face turning bright red as he turned and saw Anders stripping off his robes.

Anders stopped just short of removing his smalls. “You typically undress for baths, don’t you?”

“Surely it could wait until I was out of the room,” Nathaniel said, studying Anders with an unreadable expression. He cleared his throat and turned his head to look at the wall. “I’m sure you’ll be able to handle everything. Enjoy your bath.”

Once Nathaniel was out of the room, Anders finished undressing and sank into the water. Maker, the tub was huge. He could almost use if for swimming practice, if he wasn’t busy inspecting what appeared to be an entire shop’s worth of soaps and oils. After taking the time to sniff each one--honestly, who smelled like cabbage and cinnamon on _purpose_?--he decided upon a simple, minty scent.

When he exited the room, Nathaniel was waiting outside of the door.

“You didn’t stand here the entire time, did you?” Anders said, tucking a damp piece of hair behind his ear.

“I realised you don’t know where your room is. I thought I’d lead you there,” Nathaniel said with that same unreadable expression he’d had before.

Anders smiled. “There go my plans of sleeping in the hallway. Please, lead on.”

Nathaniel took his hand, stopped, stared at it as though he’d temporarily forgotten what a hand was, and cleared his throat. “This way,” he said, loosening his grip slightly.

When they arrived at his bedroom, Nathaniel continued to hold his hand. Anders licked his lips and said, “Would you like to come in?”

“What?”

Anders shrugged. “I thought maybe we could talk. Get to know each other, you know?”

Nathaniel pursed his lips, then said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Well. Good night, then,” Anders said as Nathaniel released his hand and disappeared into the room next door. He sighed and entered his own room, wondering if Nathaniel would ever make sense. 


	4. Chapter 4

Anders was nearly asleep when there was a knock on his door. He slumped out of bed and shuffled to the door, the too-big nightshirt Nathaniel had found for him sliding down one shoulder.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Nathaniel said as soon as Anders had opened the door.

Anders blinked and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to make sense.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” he said, placing a hand on the door. “If you don’t mind.”

Anders nodded and stepped aside to allow Nathaniel to enter the room. They sat on the bed, Anders at the head and Nathaniel at the foot.

“What’s your real name?” Nathaniel said, the moonlight streaming through the window and casting a silver sheen on his hair and face.

Anders shook his head. “I haven’t used it since I was taken to the Circle as a child. As far as I’m concerned, this is my real name.”

“I see,” Nathaniel said, turning slightly so he faced Anders more. “Why did you escape the tower?”

“Imagine,” Anders said shakily, taking a breath to collect his thoughts. “Imagine being trapped somewhere for your entire life. Every motion, everything you say is monitored, controlled by someone else, someone who doesn’t even think you’re human. You have to constantly prove that you can be trusted, and even then you’re one misstep away from death--or worse.”

“Tranquility,” Nathaniel said softly, scooting a few inches closer.

Anders nodded. “I had to get out. Surely you understand. I’ve seen the way your father treats you--haven’t you ever thought of escaping?”

Nathaniel picked at a loose thread on Anders’ quilt and said, “It’s not that bad. He means well, and I’ve nearly shamed my family enough times to deserve a little brusqueness.”

“Shamed your family? How?” Anders said, already having a strong suspicion of what Nathaniel meant. He slid over so their legs were touching and put a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder.

The corners of Nathaniel’s lips quirked upwards briefly.  He tilted his head and brushed his lips against Anders’, as light and passing as a butterfly alighting on a flower. “That’s how.”

Anders smiled and brushed a lock of hair out of Nathaniel’s face, running his thumb over his cheekbone. “I think your family needs a better definition of ‘shameful.’”

Nathaniel winced and shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

It was best not to press the argument further, Anders decided. Instead, he took Nathaniel’s hand and pressed his lips to his fingertips, sucking gently on his index finger.

Nathaniel’s breathing hitched, and he pulled his hand away from Anders’ mouth. Before Anders could ask if he’d done something wrong, Nathaniel kissed him again, looping an arm around his waist and tangling his free hand in his hair. Anders reclined, slowly pulling Nathaniel down on top of him as they continued kissing lazily in the moonlight. They could have spent all night tangled in each other’s arms, had not Nathaniel heard someone walking down the hall.

“I can’t be caught here,” he said, slowly climbing off of Anders. “But I can come back tomorrow night, if you’d like.”

Anders propped himself up on one arm, his nightshirt completely skewed and bunched. He ran a finger over his lips. “I’d love that. Good night, Nate.”

Nathaniel smiled, and for a second it looked like he’d decided against leaving. He shook his head, grabbed the doorknob, and said, “Good night, Anders.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, after a dinner filled with pointed remarks about hospitality and obligatory criticism of Nathaniel by the Arl and Arlessa, Nathaniel snuck into Anders’ room.

They sat side by side, thighs touching as Anders wrapped an arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders. “They’re wrong, you know,” he said, squeezing Nathaniel’s shoulder.

Nathaniel sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Anders squeezed his shoulder again and said, “What do you want to talk about, then?”

“You,” Nathaniel said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re a mage who escaped the tower. You must have interesting stories.”

Anders leaned closer to Nathaniel as he ran his hand up and down Anders’ side. “You’d be amazed how boring it is in the tower. You wake up, practice a few basic spells while templars glower at you, and wonder when the sweet release of death will come.” He paused, waiting for Nathaniel to laugh at the last part. When no laugh was forthcoming, he said, “Well, there was this time when I forged a love letter from the Knight Commander to First Enchanter Irving. I had to help the Tranquil scrub the floors for a month, but it was worth it to see their faces go red every time they made eye contact. I was really proud of, ‘I long to feel the magic inside of you, to vanquish the demon of desire that is summoned whenever you are near. I must hold you, kiss you. You have enchanted my heart and ensnared my mind more skillfully than the wickedest of maleficarum. P.S. Your arse is delectable.’”

Nathaniel snorted and kissed Anders’ cheek. “You should be a poet.”

“Right? I could write entire romance novels. Ooh, there’s an idea--a series about the forbidden love between a grouchy Knight Commander and a geriatric First Enchanter,” Anders said, closing his eyes as Nathaniel kissed along his jawline. He tilted his head to provide easier access to his neck. Nathaniel took full advantage of that, kissing and sucking almost--but not quite--hard enough to leave a mark. He scraped his teeth along the base of his neck, and Anders shivered.

Nathaniel kissed the corner of Anders’ mouth before moving away from him. “I should go.”

Anders frowned, but nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Every night for the next three weeks, Nathaniel snuck into Anders’ room after dark. They spent the nights talking and kissing, always stopping just short of reaching any state of undress. Then, one night as they lay kissing, Nathaniel began toying with the hem of Anders’ nightshirt, pushing the fabric up so it bunched around his hips. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, rubbing his thighs with his thumbs.

Anders nodded, sitting up to strip off his nightshirt. Nathaniel ran his fingers over the newly exposed flesh, kissing him in a way strangely reminiscent of their first kiss in Denerim, all desperation and grasping hands. Nathaniel pulled back, tugging at the top of Anders’ smalls. Anders moved, allowing Nathaniel to inch them off of him, going so slowly that Anders considered pushing his hands away to do it himself. Nathaniel gestured for him to lean back as he undressed, the candlelight and moonlight combining to cast a soft glow that flickered between cool and warm as it danced across his skin. Anders reached up to touch Nathaniel, clutching at him as though to ensure himself of his solidity.

Nathaniel leaned over Anders, kissing the hollow of his throat and sucking gently before moving on to map out every inch of his chest with his mouth. Anders tangled his fingers in Nathaniel’s hair, gasping as Nathaniel ran his tongue over his hipbone.

Nathaniel frowned. “Damn. We’ll need--”

Anders took Nathaniel’s hand and summoned a grease spell with a smile. “Mage, remember?”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and reached between Anders’ legs, gently pushing a finger inside.

They moved like the moonlight itself, all softness and silence as each noise of pleasure was muffled by lips meeting lips. If Anders was pressed to describe what it felt like, he would have said “freedom”. This, more than racing through fields, even more than seeing the sky whenever he wanted to, was what it felt like to be truly free. When he was with Nathaniel, his experiences with templars and the tower seemed like hazy memories from years, not weeks ago. It was easy to imagine a future where he never had to worry about imprisonment again, where each night found him in Nathaniel’s arms--finally, completely free.

Afterwards, they lay intertwined, Anders stroking Nathaniel’s hair as they took a moment to collect themselves. A sizeable portion of him wanted to hold Nathaniel in his arms for the rest of the night, just to reassure himself that this wasn’t another cruel dream fabricated from too many nights in Kinloch Hold.

Nathaniel kissed Anders, a gentle promise of more even as he pulled away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly, wiping himself and Anders down with the blanket.

Anders closed his eyes and waited for Nathaniel to leave the room. Once the door was completely closed, he allowed himself to mouth the words, “I love you.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m serious,” Anders said as they washed off from another one of their nightly “conversations”. They still talked, of course, but their conversations had become more and more physical as of late. “Run away with me. You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“Like what? In privilege?” Nathaniel said, massaging soap into Anders’ hair.

“You know what I mean,” Anders said, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. “And you know that I’m right. Run away with me, Nate.”

“And how safe will you be away from my family? Do you think I want to risk your life for a little extra happiness?” Nathaniel began sluicing water over Anders’ head, rinsing out the soap before massaging scented oil into his scalp. He kissed Anders’ neck, wrapping one arm around his midsection. “It’s not worth it.”

Anders tilted his head back so it rested on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “You’d rather be miserable because it’s safe?”

“I’m not miserable,” Nathaniel said softly, kissing Anders’ neck once more. “I have you.”

They stepped out of the tub, pausing just to hold each other once they were completely dry. Nathaniel didn’t ask Anders to wait a few minutes to leave after him; instead, they exited the room together.

“You’re really not miserable?” Anders whispered as they stood in the hallway outside of their rooms.

Nathaniel pressed him against the wall and kissed him, one hand gripping his hip as the other tangled in his hair. Anders embraced Nathaniel’s neck, wrapping a leg around Nathaniel as the kiss deepened.

“Well,” Arl Howe said from off to the side. “This is an interesting development.”

For half a second, they continued to embrace each other. Then, just as suddenly as Arl Howe had appeared, Nathaniel had disentangled himself from Anders and turned to face his father.

“Father,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can--”

“Explain?” Arl Howe said coldly. “I heard enough of your explanations the last time. I’d wondered why you were so interested in bringing home a pet mage, and now I know why. Go to your room, Nathaniel.”

“Father--”

“If you care about him at all, you’ll go to your room.”

Nathaniel squeezed Anders’ hand, whispering “I’m so sorry,” before walking to his room.

Anders hoped he looked defiant. He hoped he looked anything other than the terrified, lovesick mess that he was. He raised his chin and said, “I hope you’re not trying to scare me. I dealt with templars back in the tower who would give you nightmares.”

Arl Howe smiled like cold metal. “Then you’ll have had plenty of practice for when you go back there.”

Anders’ heart stopped. “You wouldn’t--”

“You’re lucky I won’t tell them to give you the brand,” Arl Howe said as though he were discussing which tapestry would best suit the dining room. “The templars will be here by morning. Don’t make a scene, and it will go easier on Nathaniel.”

The next morning, Anders allowed himself to be led off by the templars without any fuss. Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen.

#

“Did you hear about the Howes’ eldest?”

Anders looked up from his book and focussed on the two templars gossiping a few feet away. His back still stung from the lashes he'd been given, but he refused to let the templars know how much it hurt.

“No?”

“Got sent off to the Free Marches, he did. His father caught him with another man. _Again_ , I heard.”

The second templar sniggered, and Anders felt his face flush from a combination of guilt, anger, and sorrow. At least, a pitiful voice at the bottom of his mind said, At least you know he’s still alive.


	7. Chapter 7

Anders gasped when he saw the prisoner the guards had spoken of. He'd questioned the necessity of following the Warden Commander to look at a prisoner, but now he was grateful she'd insisted. There, standing in his cell with an expression like the Blight itself, was Nathaniel. Older, of course, and with a hilarious excuse for facial hair, but definitely Nathaniel.

Anders lingered in the back as the Commander, using one of the guards to translate, informed Nathaniel that he'd been conscripted. His heart shattered into tiny shards as Nathaniel demanded to be hanged, and he pleaded to the Maker that the Commander wouldn't grant his wish. Judging by how emphatic her signs had become, she hadn't even considered it.

"You crying, mage?" The dwarf, Oghren said a little too loudly for Anders' liking.

Anders scrubbed his hands over his face, forced a smile, and said, "Surely I'm not the first person moved to tears by your stench."

Oghren huffed and trudged after the Commander as she and the guard led Nathaniel back to the throne room.

Anders lingered in a corner of the throne room, just out of sight of Nathaniel and the Warden Commander. Terror gripped his trachea and squeezed as he heard Nathaniel fall to the ground from taking his Joining.

"Will he live?" He asked the Commander in pidgin sign.

She nodded, raising her eyebrows as he thanked her profusely. Elated, Anders returned to his corner and waited for Nathaniel to come to. The moment Varel commented that he had begun to stir, Anders was at his side.

"Nate," he said softly, taking his hand. "Remember me?"

Nathaniel blinked, and for a long, panicked moment Anders feared that he'd forgotten. Then his eyes lit up in recognition. "Anders?"

Anders nodded, tears welling in his eyes once more. "You're back. I heard--Maker, I'm so sorry."

Nathaniel sat up and embraced him. "There’s nothing to apologise for," he said, rubbing small circles in Anders' back. "We're together again. That's all I care about now."


End file.
